


bury a friend

by KyloTrashForever



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Age Difference, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst and Tragedy, Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon Age Difference, Dark Past, Dystopian, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Eventual Smut, F/M, Fire Powers, Firestarter - Freeform, Genetic Engineering, Hurt/Comfort, Kylo Ren Has Issues, Mentor Kylo, Past Character Death, Possible violence, Rey Needs A Hug, Size Difference, X-Men Vibes?, scientific experiments
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-31
Updated: 2019-04-11
Packaged: 2019-12-27 01:52:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,987
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18294458
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KyloTrashForever/pseuds/KyloTrashForever
Summary: What are you wondering?He says he can help her, if he lets her. She doubts that. She doubts that very much.What do you know?“I will be back tomorrow, and the next day, and the day after that,” Kylo assures her. “You will lose this game.”I always lose.Every night brings the fire, and every morning brings back the memories. In a world where she is the only monster she knows, caged like an animal in a place that promises a cure— Rey will soon learn that not all monsters are the ones we expect.





	1. try to wake up

**Author's Note:**

  * For [katieitsmee](https://archiveofourown.org/users/katieitsmee/gifts).



> Hello! This is slightly different than anything I’ve ever tried. Mostly because it’s very angsty. I promise it has a happy ending! 
> 
> Completely inspired by this [song](https://youtu.be/HUHC9tYz8ik).
> 
> For my favorite screamer, and fellow lover of Billie. 🖤

 

* * *

 

It’s the smell that hits Rey first.

Acrid. Pungent. The kind that creeps into your nostrils and clings to the fine hairs inside, so that it stays with you long after the source has dissipated.

It’s always the precursor. Her only warning. It’s grips her. _Consumes_ her. Fills her consciousness in a way that bleeds into her reality until she is unsure if she awake or asleep.

She knows though. She _knows_ this is a dream.

It can’t be real. It can’t be real because Rose lays beside her. Her small form curled slightly in sleep, dark hair brushed over her temples as soft sounds escapes her. She is fine. She is _fine._

_This isn’t real._

There is still the smell. It fills her up. It is _everywhere._ Even as she attempts to try to wake up.

Rose is fine. Rose is asleep. Rey smells her burning, but she is fine. She is asleep. Her chest moves with breath, with _life— she is fine._

Then everything catches fire. The room. The bed. The walls. _Rose._ Her skin crinkles and withers like paper, blackening and peeling away from her bones and Rey is helpless to stop it. She thinks she screams, but the sound is lost to the roaring of flames and the pummel of smoke. Rose was here. Rose was alive. Rose was _fine._

Rey wakes up.

The dream stops— but the flames do not.

Her rooms is ablaze— the fire licking at her skin and blooming outwards to fill the tiny room that is her prison— that is her _home._ Her room is an inferno— and _she_ is the match.

They will pass. She knows they will pass. The flames will return to her and the room will be righted. Then the tests will begin. The _observations._ The _pain._

Her limbs are frozen, her eyes won’t close. She can still smell Rose’s skin burning even as the doors open and they barrel inside. She is doused— with what she doesn’t know. It hurts. It always hurts, but the flames recede. She is restrained— as if she is a monster, if she _chose_ this.

She feels the prick of the needle… and then everything goes black.

* * *

“How are you feeling?”

_Like I am strapped to a chair._

She says nothing, just continues to stare at an abnormality she’s discovered in the tile. The repetitive pattern of colors is interrupted here, and where this one should be white— it is black. She wonders if she is the only one who has noticed.

“Rey,” Luke sigh. “I can’t help you if you don’t talk to me.”

_You can’t help me at all._

How long has he promised to do so? She’s lost track of the number of days she’s been here. The passing of time means nothing.

“Are you still having the dream?”

She looks at him then. She wonders what she looks like through his eyes. She wishes she’d never told him about the dream. She’d done so in a fit of weakness— a moment of desperation in which she’d naively believed he could make everything better.

He couldn’t. No one can.

Luke scribbles something on his clipboard, flipping the page to read something printed there. “Your levels are abnormal. It worries me.”

_I am abnormal— does that not worry you also?_

_“_ Perhaps if we talk about Ro—”

“ _Don’t say her name.”_

He smiles, and she knows he is satisfied to have gotten her to speak. Her words come out less clear than usual, the lingering chemicals in her system leaving her… less than herself. They keep her docile. They keep her _calm._ Less likely to fall into an _episode_.

Luke takes a deep breath, nodding as if to himself. His eyes unreadable even in the bright light of the fluorescents overhead.

“I have to go away for awhile.”

She becomes more alert at this. “What?”

“I have matters to attend to. Things to take care of.”

She feels panic rising in her chest. She has never been without Luke. Not a single day in her time here. She is not exactly _happy_ with him, but he is also _all she knows_ anymore _._ She doesn't know how to be _anything_ if he is not here.

“How long will you be gone?”

“A few weeks. A month at most.”

“What will I— what does that mean for me?”

Luke shrugs. “Nothing too out of the ordinary. Tests will not cease in my absence. Our number one concern is still finding a solution. Helping you.”

“Is it?” Her voice is barely above a whisper now.

He leans across his chair, his hand falling to her knee. The comfort of this gesture is lost to the thickness of his gloves, the warmth of his gaze muted behind the shimmering barrier of energy that shields his face. That protects him. From _her._

_“Of course,_ Rey. We’ll find it. We’re _so_ close. We make strides every day. It’s only a matter of time.”

She’s heard this before. So many times she can’t keep count at this point. She doesn’t know when she stopped believing it— but his words mean nothing to her now. She lets him run his tests, lets him poke and prod because really, what other choice does she have?

“I’m leaving you in capable hands,” Luke says then. “Someone I trust.”

She grimaces. “A stranger.”

He doesn’t argue, because there’s no point in doing so. Everyone is a stranger to her. The only friend she’d ever had, Rey had—

No. She doesn’t allow herself to think about it. Shutting it away is the only way to survive. She is tortured enough in sleep— her waking moments are her own.

“He will take good care of you,” Luke assures her. “I would like you to be open and honest with him. Just as you would me. He will be giving me full reports while I am away.”

She nods because again, what choice does she have? Protesting is futile. Everything is futile. So she nods. Compliance is her friend. It keeps her alive. Luke smiles, the action having used to comfort her. Nothing comforts her now.

“Don’t worry, Rey,” Luke urges. “It will be fine. Everything  will be fine.”

She can almost believe him… but she doesn’t believe anything anymore.

* * *

_Burning._ Everything is burning. She can smell it again. Charred flesh that she can’t escape. Heat that cannot touch her but consumes her nonetheless. Skin peeling from bone. A swallowed scream. _Fire._

She cannot escape.

_I want to drown._

_Everything is burning._

Her eyes fly open just as she is doused, the chemical that swallows her flames stinging her skin, and she grits her teeth in pain to hold back her scream. She feels arms much stronger than hers gripping her shoulders, pressing her against her cot.

Her eyes are blurred by the douse, her vision obscured.

There is someone above, someone she does not recognize. She sees his mouth moving, some quiet reassurance from his lips just as she feels the needle break her skin.

Dark eyes are the last thing she sees before everything goes black once more.

* * *

The following morning is familiar in its desolation. She sits in the corner of her room, picking at the charred bits of ash that cling to the titanium walls. Her mattress has been replaced— a simple covering that must be changed after each episode, and with the frequency they’ve been occurring lately… it has been changed a lot.

Her room consists of nothing more than a metal cot, table, chair and a toilet hidden by a metal partition. She is afforded no more than this, since anything else is always at risk of being burned up while she sleeps. She takes her meals here, delivered to her through a slot in the door that rests over an attached tray.

Every morning she is brought breakfast, and it is only when she’s finished that they allow her to visit the rec room, where she is allowed more entertaining activities. Only under the influence of the sedatives— only when it is certain she is docile and calm.

So when a knock sounds at her door, she assumes that it is breakfast. She doesn’t bother to stand, knowing they’ll leave her meal on the tray and shut the sliding door. She doesn’t want to interact if she doesn’t have to.

It is because of this assumption that she is surprised by the doorknob turning instead, the sound of a key in the lock signaling that someone is entering. She is confused, as no one _ever_ enters her room unless she is having an episode. No one except Luke— and Luke left this morning.

The person who enters is… no one she has ever seen before. She assumes he is a man, due to the enormity of his size and stature. He stands a good head taller than her, broader than any person she has ever seen. He wears a similar flame-retardant suit as the other orderlies, only his is pitch black. Thick Kevlar gloves of matching black cover his hands, one of which is clutching her tray.

It is his mask that disarms her— nothing like the transparent shields of energy used by everyone else she has come in contact with. No, his is less a mask and more a… helmet. The sleek, black armor that covers his head hides his entire face, a mirrored visor of dark glass over the eyes trained on her.

This is _nothing_ like the others wear. She assumes it is also to protect him from her, but is unsure as to why he would need to use extended measures like this. When he speaks, his voice is distorted through the speaker that she assumes is inside.

“Hello, Rey.”

She says nothing. Why should she? She doesn’t know this man. He is nothing to her.

He takes note of her silence, setting her tray on the table and gesturing to it. She lets her gaze pass over it lazily, her eyes flicking back to his in an apathetic manner, her mouth remaining closed.

She thinks he sighs, but it is hard to make out from behind his helmet. “Luke told you he would be leaving you in my care.”

_Luke tells me a lot of things, it doesn’t mean I’m interested in them._

He clenches his fists in response to her silence just before bringing them behind his back, his chest rising and falling in a way that lets her _know_ he’s sighing.

“My name is Kylo. Kylo Ren.”

_What difference does your name make? You are nothing more than a moment amongst thousands in a life I don’t want._

He gestures to the tray again. “Eat.”

Again she glances at it, looking back to him almost defiantly. Who is he to command her, this man that she does not know?

_“_ Luke told me you might be difficult, but I am patient. I assure you I can remain here for as long as it takes for you to eat.”

What an asshole. She frowns at him, hoping she looks fearsome, but in her standard-issue white jumpsuit and wild hair— she knows she probably looks anything but. She pushes to her feet begrudgingly, grabbing her tray and moving to sit cross legged on her bed as she begins to eat.

Kylo folds himself into the chair at her little table, his wide form looking almost comical in the too-small seat. He allows her to eat, keeping up the thick air of silence as she consumes her breakfast, his visor trained on her as if he is just staring at her.

He must sense that he will not be having any level of conversation with her— resting against the chair with an otherworldly quiet. How does he keep so _still?_ He behaves as if his body is composed of marble instead of flesh and bone. She keeps having to check to make sure he is still breathing. It is deeply unnerving.

He watches her the entire time she eats, his shielded gaze remaining fixed on her. She has to resist the urge to scowl at him. She doesn’t like this level of scrutiny from someone she can’t even begin to discern an expression from. He watches quietly as she finishes her food, never moving even as she sits the tray beside her on the bed.

He is still _looking_ at her. She wishes she knew what he looked like. He feels… inhuman like this. She has half convinced herself at this point that he is some sort of android that Luke built in a lab somewhere. It wouldn’t be the strangest thing she’s seen in her life.

When it is clear she is finished, he finally moves to stand. He is slow to rise, but he does so with the fluid grace of someone of a much less Herculean build. He takes the tray from beside her, pulling it close to his body and turning away towards the door.

He affords her one last long look of scrutiny, his hand resting against the door just as he moves to leave. “You know… I can take whatever I want. You would do well to remember that the next time we chat.”

With that he is gone, leaving without so much as a goodbye as he strides out of the room. His promise— or perhaps it is a _threat—_ lingers with her long after he’s left her.

He is strange, Kylo Ren, and maybe a little bit scary. These are the most prominent thoughts she is left with at his departure.

Then again… who is she to talk?

* * *

She is only half-surprised when he returns at dinner.

He is no less menacing than before— although the tray of food he’s offering takes the edge off of his intimidating figure. He sets the tray against her table again, regarding her in— what she assumes— is a curious manner.

“Are we still playing this game?”

_Asshole._ She says nothing.

“Sooner or later— you will _have_ to speak to me.”

_Hardly. Sooner or later— Luke will be back._

_“_ Perhaps you think you can keep this up until Luke returns?”

She goes still, the acknowledgment of a thought she hasn’t voiced jarring her. She can’t see his face, but she picks up on the way he stands just a little straighter. The way he goes from broad to _imposing_ with just a fraction of a movement. As if he sees right through her.

“That is… disappointing, Rey. We could help each other, you and I.”

_Doubtful. No one can help me._

_“_ Ican, you know.” This comes softer, his distorted voice as it drifts through the speaker in his helmet so quiet she finds herself straining to make it out. “Help you, that is. If you let me.”

She finds herself again wishing to know what he looks like. She isn’t sure why she is so curious— perhaps it is that hidden away as he is… he seems more monster than man. She isn’t sure how to handle this. _She_ is the only monster she knows. She doesn’t think she _can_ handle another.

She can’t see his eyes— but she _feels_ them. Concealed behind his visor and fixed on her— as if he can somehow discern all there is to know about her with just a look. As if she is a puzzle to figure out and not the irreparable thing she knows she actually is. What does he think he sees?

_What are you wondering?_

He says he can help her, if he lets her. She doubts that. She doubts that very much. Why shouldn’t she? She’s heard it before. She’s been let down before. Time and time again. Why should he be any different?

_What do you know?_

She senses the moment he resigns himself to another standstill, his shoulders falling so slightly that one might miss it. She doesn’t though, the tiny motion obvious amongst the resolute stillness that is Kylo Ren.

“I will be back tomorrow, and the next day, and the day after that. You will lose this game.”

_I always lose._

She isn’t surprised that he leaves— she is only surprised by the twinge of… something in her chest at his absence. Not disappointment really, as she doesn’t have the capacity to feel that anymore. Something, though. Something that makes her stare at the closed door for a very long time.

* * *

The dream is the same. _Always the same._

Bathed in flames and forced to watch her die over and over _and over_ again.

As if Rey has not suffered enough. As if she _deserves this._ She wonders if she does.

Everything is awash in the fire in the waking world, and when she opens her eyes, she is consumed. She feels the spray of the sprinklers even as she hisses with the pain of it, the room falling into darkness save for the door sliding open to allow them inside.

To restrain her. To make her more _docile._

She doesn’t even fight them this time. She just wants to sleep. She is so tired. So very tired.

_I want to end me._

He is back— the stranger she does not know and cannot really see, but she recognizes him in the sense that she doesn’t recognize him at all. The others have been a staple. She knows them by heart. This one is new.

His mouth moves again— she wishes she could make out the full shape of it— but the douse coats her eyes like a veil. She makes out her name. Just one word in the haze of her waking nightmare, and she likes the way it sounds. Perhaps she is delusional.

She knows the needle is coming before she ever feels it touch her skin, and this time, when it punctures— she welcomes the dark that follows.


	2. am I satisfactory?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: this author knows nothing of medical practices— so, yeah. 😂 There’s probably some inaccuracies. Thanks to everyone who checked out this weirdness I’ve been playing with! ❤️

“Hello, Rey.”

She doesn’t look at him. Her television time is fleeting enough as it is— she isn’t going to let him take any more of it away with his imposing visit.

He settles into a chair in the corner, this one fitting him much better than the one in her room— although he still seems too large for the room. She wonders if there is a room that fits him.

“I’m told you had another incident last night.”

 _I have an_ incident _every night._

He wasn’t at breakfast today. She thought perhaps he’d realized she had no intention to speak to him. She has grown tired of empty promises. Promises to _help._ Promises to _fix her._

“We aren’t so different, you and I.”

She flicks her eyes to him, narrowing them slightly. He knows nothing of what she’s been through. Of what she’s _done._

_He knows nothing._

“You think you are the only one who has things they wish they could undo?”

For a moment she stares at the empty glass of his visor, imagining his eyes just behind it and holding them as best she can.

His voice softens a fraction. “You think you are the only one to feel pain?”

Her eyes fall to the floor, considering. She feels… strange. Remorseful, somehow. Almost… chastised. Like a child. It is unsettling.

“Let me _help_ you.”

She swallows, returning her attention to the screen shielded behind thick plexiglass. She no longer focuses on whatever flashes across it, her thoughts on his words and _him_ and Kylo— he just sits quietly. Body still like a stone. Allowing her to consider.

She doesn’t want to speak to him. Doesn’t want to let another person into her life and allow that flicker of hope to kindle inside her. But her lips part— that tiny exhale preceding the words that tumble out, and they hover in the air before she can stop them.

“What do you want from me?”

His chest gives a steady exhale, and she wonders if he is sighing in relief. In triumph. How good he must feel to have gotten his way. To have gotten what he came for. His hands settle in his lap, his fingers lacing together as the rest of him remains resolute. “I just want to help you.”

“No one can help me,” she replies bitterly. “ I can’t be cured.”

“Therein lies your problem. You are so focused on a _cure—_ have you never thought to simply try and _control_ it?”

She brings her gaze back to his helmet, brow knit in thought. “Control it?”

“You feel like you’re in a nightmare.” It isn’t a question, more of an assessment, and she can’t find any lie in his words. “You feel like you’ve been cursed.”

“Haven’t I?”

“It depends on how you choose to perceive it. It can be a gift— if you let it be.”

“A _gift?”_ She practically spits the word. “Tell me, Kylo. When we all fall asleep, where do we go? Where do _you_ go?” He doesn’t answer, but she’s turned to face him now, nose wrinkled in seething anger and fists clenched tight. “Let me tell you where _I_ go.” She leans in an inch, refusing to feel threatened by his stature and his unnerving calm. “I watch someone I love die. _Every night.”_ The words are harder now. They leave in her clipped syllables that take effort to push past her teeth. “I watch them die knowing it is _my fault.”_

Her breath is labored, anger pooling in her chest to combat the sedatives in her blood and Kylo— he still does nothing.

_How can he be so fucking still?_

“ _Tell me_ , Kylo,” she grits out. “Does that sound like a _gift_ to you?”

She doesn’t know when she started to cry, but there’s a warm wet against her cheeks that she can’t control. It clings to her lashes defiantly as she attempts to blink it away to no avail. She refuses to look away from him, watching as he stares back at her quietly, that lingering desire to see the man beneath the mask flitting through her muddled thoughts.

“No,” he says finally. “I suppose it doesn’t.”

Her shoulders fall, tucking her chin to her chest and shutting her eyes tight. She’s just so tired.

“But one day,” he continues, “perhaps.”

“How would you do it?”

“Teach you control?”

She nods.

“The way all hard lessons are taught. With patience and a touch of pain.”

“I am used to pain,” she whispers, eyes still shut.

“Yes. I know.”

She opens her eyes then, feeling the sting of tears that linger at the corners. She wonders what he must think of her— this frail, broken thing that could burn his entire world if left unchecked. She wonders if he pities her.

“I don’t want to be a monster.”

He leans forward, hands resting against his knees as his head turns just a fraction to the side. She can’t see him, but she feels as if— she feels as if he sees _her._ As if he _really_ sees.

“We are all monsters, Rey,” he says tightly. “We don’t choose our demons— but we can choose whether or not they rule us.”

_Show me your face._

It’s there— the question right on the tip of her tongue and yet she swallows it whole, knowing it doesn’t matter. Wondering why she feels it does. She feels her head nodding softly, a quiet affirmation because _yes, we are all monsters._ He understands.

She straightens her spine, taking a deep breath. “When can we start?”

* * *

“Tell me how this helps me.”

She tugs at the restraints around her wrists, scowling at the corner where Kylo’s back is to her. He studies the monitors there, gloved fingers tapping away at the keyboard as he remains silent.

She huffs out a breath, tensing against the inclined table she is strapped to. Like some sort of prisoner. She almost laughs at the thought, because isn’t she just that?

“Do I have to be _restrained?”_

“You have to keep still for the scans.”

“I can do that without being tethered like a dog.”

He turns slightly, his masked face peering over his shoulder. “No, you are not that, but you sure have the bite of one. Better to be safe than sorry.”

She frowns, watching him return his attention to the monitor and muttering obscenities under her breath. He had left that day in the rec room without much more than a _soon—_ and she had not seen him again for three days after.

Her episodes continued on, each night waking to the douse of chemicals and the hazy memory of dark eyes. She had started to wonder if perhaps Kylo was some figment of her imagination. Perhaps she had finally cracked.

Then he had knocked on her door this morning, no more explanation than a simple, “Come with me.”

She’s never seen this room before, full of instruments and too-bright lights and cold— so very cold. It makes her uneasy.

She tugs at the restraints in a way that is almost missable— hoping he won’t notice.

“They won’t break.”

 _Damnit_.

He turns to face her then. “You’re nervous.”

She clenches her lips, only to blow out a breath. “That’s what happens when you’re being loomed over by a creature in a mask.”

He seems to consider this, his hands lifting a fraction to hover at his waist, his fingers twitching slightly. She watches them inch higher, as if he is unsure as to why he is following this course of action— but then they are at the edge of his helmet. He pushes a button, some mechanical whirr sounding and then the faceplate moves. She sees the hint of flesh at his chin, just a peek of a full lower lip as his hands hover on either side of the helmet.

He lifts it away in one fell swoop, dark hair tumbling out to his collar that looks soft to the touch. Her brow wrinkles in confusion, the man underneath nothing like what she could have imagined.

He is young. Far younger than she would have guessed. Perhaps not so much older than herself. Eyes of deep brown rest under a strong brow, and a patrician nose curves out over a full mouth that is now fully on display.

The scar is the only thing that ages him.

It curves under his jaw, curling over his cheek and right eye to end just above his brow. She feels her mouth part slightly, at a loss with the discovery of just who she has been conversing with these handful of moments.

“Better?”

_I’m not so sure._

She nods slowly. “A little.”

“Good,” he nods. “Perhaps you will not be distracted now.”

But she is distracted— and for what reason she can’t be sure. She finds herself studying his features, mapping the scatter of beauty marks that dot across his face. He is not beautiful by any normal standards, but he is… interesting. Something about his face makes it hard to look away.

She clears her throat, brushing those thoughts away. “What are you going to do?”

He takes a step closer, and she sucks in a breath instinctively as he nears. He reaches towards her face, her breath now caught in her chest as his gloved fingers brush just past her cheek. They continue on, not touching her but instead pressing a button just behind her as the table rears backwards slowly to lie flat.

He gestures to the wide tube just behind her. “I want to get a scan.”

“Why?”

“I would like to get an MRI. Look for any anomalies.”

“You think there is something wrong with my brain?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“You said—”

“It’s better to be safe than sorry, remember?”

His hand is on her forearm then, smoothing over the array of marks that have accumulated from the repeated injections she receives. Failed trials of hopeful _cures._ Each a painful disappointment.

“It is painful.” His fingers linger at a fresh mark, a circular pattern of minuscule punctures with one larger one in the center. It isn’t a question.

“Every single time.”

His finger continues to trace the shape of the wound, light enough so that it does not cause more pain but present enough that she feels every tiny motion. He makes the entire sweeping pass of the punctured ring, his eyes seeming to try and memorize the shape of it.

He finally pulls his hand away, turning to a small metal stand beside the table she lays upon, picking up an autoinjector that she recognizes all too well.

“What is that?”

He glances down at her. “Gadolinium. It’s a contrast dye. It will help me see anything there is to see.”

She frowns, but says nothing, and he gives her a reassuring look. “Don’t worry, it will not hurt.”

He presses the injector to her vein, the sharp click sounding as chill passes through the site of the injection.

“It’s cold.”

“That can be normal.”

She feels the chill creep up her arm, and she shudders, her eyes widening as a trickle of fear passes through her. His hand covers her arm, giving it a light squeeze.

“You’re okay. I promise.”

Her eyes meet his, feeling a sense of calm wash over her. It warms the cold in her veins, and the knot inside her chest loosens somewhat. She wonders how he did that. His gaze doesn’t break away, and for a moment he studies her quietly.

_What do you see?_

He clears his throat, the moment passing as he releases her to press another button, and her table begins to slide backwards. It settles inside the tube, encasing her in partial darkness before bright lights flick on in succession around the inner circumference of the machine.

She feels her heart rate quicken, suddenly wary to be inside such an enclosed space like this.

“Don’t be nervous.” His voice breaks through the tube from just outside. “Everything will be fine. You won’t feel a thing.”

She nods, knowing he can’t see her but doing it perhaps for her own benefit. To tell herself she believes him, because she has no other choice.

“I’m going to leave the room. It will take a little while. I’ll come back in when the scan completes. Okay?”

“Okay.”

“Be very still, Rey.”

She hears the click of the door then, and then a coil slides out from the inside to settle just over her skull. She hears the machine whirr to life, and she wills herself to keep calm. To be as still as she can.

A muffled thumping sounds for minutes at a time, and she feels every second pass by slowly as the machine does its job. She isn’t sure how much time passes before it finally goes quiet, and then she is sliding outwards from inside as Kylo re enters the room.

“You did well,” he assures her. “I’ll have the results shortly.”

“What do you think you will find?”

He is quiet, mouth in a tight line and the barest of shrugs at his shoulders. “Impossible to know, but it will at least help me rule some things out.”

“Can you undo these restraints now?”

His jaw works for a moment, and then he gives a short nod. He reaches for his helmet that rests against the chair, and quickly affixes it back over his face as it clicks shut.

It is so easy to forget he lives and breathes underneath it.

His fingers work at her restraints quickly, and then her wrists are free and she rubs at them to soothe the stiffness there. “What now?”

“You may return to the rec room. We are done for the day. I’ll have an aide escort you.”

“Will I see you tomorrow?” His head gives a tiny movement, cocking slightly to the side and she feels her face heat. “Not that I want to. I would just like to know how soon we will start the actual lessons.”

Several seconds of silence pass before he answers. “You will see me tomorrow.”

She nods, and then a knock sounds at the exit door just before an aide walks in. He shuffles her out, Rey affording one last glance over her shoulder, finding Kylo doing what he does best.

_Studying._

* * *

He watches her go, hands behind his back and his eyes on the tight grip of the aide’s hand around her arm. The tenseness he feels is strange. He does not approve of rough handling, but he knows this is their way. It is beyond his control— as so much often is.

When she is gone, he turns to exit to the attached observation room, the scans already displayed on the lighted board and he lets his eyes pass over them curiously, frowning at what he’s sees.

“I didn’t order this test.”

Kylo turns, finding Luke resting in a chair in the corner. He must have came in through the side door. Kylo returns his attention to the board in front of him.

“There are no signs of the treatment.” Kylo’s hand passes over the large scan that highlights the prefrontal cortex. “Nothing out of the ordinary to suggest that she has undergone it.”

Luke sighs, leaning forward. “Can you take that ridiculous thing off? It feels like I’m talking to a robot.”

Kylo grits his teeth, refraining from pointing out it is _Luke_ that is to blame for his need for it. He removes his helmet, setting it on a table and frowning.

“Don’t look at me like that,” Luke scoffs.

“She is different.”

Luke nods. “She’s not like you, Ben.”

Kylo bristles at the use of his old name. Luke is the only one to still use it, and every bit the reason no one else remembers it. “What is she?”

Luke rises from the chair, letting his hand smooth over her scans. “She never received the treatment.”

“But she’s—”

“She wasn’t made, Kylo. She was _born.”_

Kylo’s mouth parts, his eyes returning to the brightly lit image of her brain, his brow knitting in thought. “How is that possible?”

“It’s unimportant.”

Kylo feels a surge of heat in his chest. “I would think it is _very_ important.”

Luke cuts his eyes to Kylo, narrowing them. “I’ve told you everything you need to know to get the job done.”

Kylo frowns. “Must you have lied to her?”

“She wouldn’t have seen you willingly if she believed I was still here.”

“She doesn’t trust me.”

“She doesn’t trust _anyone.”_ Luke sighs, a small smile curling at his lips. “But you will gain her trust. You will do what I cannot.”

“And if I can’t?”

Luke’s smile dissipates, and his chest rises and falls heavily as a surge of disappointment floods his features. “Then she will be disposed of.” Luke shakes his head. “Such a waste.”

Kylo feels his spine stiffen, the thought of her being _disposed of_ unsettling somehow. It is not quite care he feels— as he is not sure he is still capable of such emotions. But it is something. Something small and fleeting, barely clinging to life. Something for her.

“How long did they give you?”

Luke purses his lips, looking up at the ceiling. “A month.”

“Impossible,” Kylo snorts. “I cannot possibly teach her how to control it in such a short time.”

Luke doesn’t look at him, but his hand reaches out to grasp Kylo’s shoulder. He doesn’t like the casual embrace— too reminiscent of a time when his life was normal. When he wasn’t _Kylo._

“You have to, Ben,” Luke urges softly. “We cannot allow her to be destroyed.” His eyes move over the scans once more, nodding softly to himself. “She’s _perfect.”_

_Perfect._

Kylo’s mind flicks back to the first time he saw her, barely more than a shell that still breathed. He thinks of her wide eyes and her fire that has nothing to do with her gifts.

 _Yes,_ he thinks. _It would be a waste._

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!  
> Come say hi on [tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/kylotrashforever)!  
> I made a [Twitter](https://mobile.twitter.com/KTF_Reylo), come follow me!


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